


It Takes Time

by Matinee_Idol



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 19:20:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20376781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matinee_Idol/pseuds/Matinee_Idol
Summary: Whilst being treated in the oncology department of Holby City hospital, Neveilla didn't quite expect such a bleak time in her life to turn into something so special.





	1. Chapter 1

While Neveilla had often preferred to frequent the much quieter Italian coffee shop not far from her house, as per usual she had been running late. She had grown far too used to awaking with the sun while back in Greece, but rainy old England had little of that to offer in the throws of Winter, and it had been a typically gloomy and grey Thursday morning she had awoken with the sound of sleet and hail pounding at her window. Along with the ever so slight drip of a leak above her head she hadn’t quite gotten around to addressing yet. She grumbled to herself as a spot of water landed square on her forehead, and she pulled a pillow over her head in a momentary denial at the prospect of waking up at such a painfully early hour. But that movement only proved to be an invitation as a long-haired tabby furball jumped up onto said pillow, pawing it as he meowed in a loud and obnoxious manner at his human. 

“Basil...You and I both know how this is going to play out. I’m going to get out of bed and you’re immediately going to jump into the warm spot and go back to sleep. So stop pretending you’re my best friend asking for attention...” she complained in a muffled voice before reluctantly slipping out from underneath the pillow the large feline had settled upon, the cat looking smug as he batted his tail lazily. “I don’t know what you’re looking so happy about. Get a job and contribute to this household. Then we’ll see who looks that happy at 5 in the morning...” Not that he understood – if he did, he’d kept that information very much to himself – such a complaint as he settled down, purring away as Neveilla hot-footed her way across the cold bedroom floor to the bathroom so she could start her morning proceedings with a hot shower. 

Comfortingly hot water raining down on her from the slightly squeaky and extremely old shower head above, she sat crouched underneath it as she draped an arm around a suddenly throbbing stomach, an issue that had been plaguing her for the past few weeks. It was something she had been naively putting down to the fact that dissertations, thesis papers and exams were all piling high upon her desk as the end of another academic year drew near. It had been pointed out to her on more than one occasion too that she had lost a considerable amount of weight; no small claim considering her nickname of ‘Pixie’ amongst her old friends hadn’t been borne of irony. Although this was another thing she put down to little more than stress. Self neglect had been a common theme for her when things grew busier in her life. She waiting until the pain – something she had come to liken to an old friend that hadn’t visited in some time – had passed before she straightened herself out, forcing herself into a cheerful whistle as she went back to washing her mane of dark hair.

Having ignored breakfast as per usual – although she had ensured that Basil’s bowls were filled with fresh water and trimmed turkey from the butcher’s shop at the end of the road, which should keep him busy until his sitter visited later in the day to take care of his dinner – Neveilla left the house with her book bag and Cello case in hand, the promise of a large cup of coffee offering a small glimmer of cheer as she gave her temporarily out of commission car a sad look before walking past it to begin the walk to work. A fact made acutely worse by the black heels she had forced herself to wear upon realising that almost all of her students were a good foot taller than herself, something which hardly commanded respect in a classroom environment. 

By some miracle or other, she found herself arriving at the Coffee shop with only an ever so slight stitch in her side and slight pang in her feet. Which, she had to admit, was a vast improvement from the ill feeling that had stuck with her since she had awoken. It was unusually full considering it had barely past 7am, but the slight headache that was beginning to brew due to a lack of sleep and caffeine spurred her on as she walked in, joining the end of a less than awake looking queue of people who seemed to take turns in punctuating the moment with their collective yawns and grumblings.

\---------

The patrons had been startled as a young woman standing in line for her morning caffeine fix fell to the floor without warning, shocked looks exchanged between them for a few long seconds as they hadn’t known what to do. Except for one exhausted woman seated at the back of the shop, enjoying one last drink at the end of a very long shift. She had sprung into action almost as a reflex, shooing concerned customers out of the way as a barista collected the woman’s cased instrument and bag, stowing them away behind the counter lest they walk away in the confusion. 

“Can you hear me, miss? I’m Doctor Campbell. I’m here to help” Serena introduced herself needlessly as she crouched down beside the woman after ensuring that somebody was in the process of calling an ambulance. She could see that the woman was completely unconscious as she surveyed her, her brow knitting together with concern as she took her in. The woman was painfully thin and absolutely not a healthy colour. She was far too pale, with a slightly yellow tinge that spoke of things far more serious than a slight nutrient deficiency or something of equal banality that could have led to such a collapse. She busied herself checking the woman’s vitals – somewhat slow heart rate, laboured breathing – as she waited for the paramedics to arrive, also checking her pockets for some form of ID. She didn’t have anything on her, but she would check her bag once they were situated in the ambulance and on their way.

Once they arrived at the emergency department – dispatch had tried to divert them to St. James’ for fear of blocking the ED should a more serious incident occur, but Serena had been far more comfortable taking her somewhere familiar – handover had been a relatively straight forward affair.

“Neveilla Papadakis. 32 years old. Lost consciousness while waiting in line at a coffee shop. She has severe jaundice, decreased heart rate, distended upper abdomen and apparent discomfort in that area. She also has scalding to her chest and arm after spilling her coffee over herself on her way down.”

\------

It was hours after Neveilla had been stabilised and moved to cubicles that she slowly began to wake up. And although Serena had promised herself that it would be a quick handover and on her way home to bed, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She had settled herself down in a chair by the woman’s trolley bed and waited for her to come around, knowing she would no doubt be extremely confused and worried. She had looked through the woman’s phone to see if there was anybody she could contact to come and be with her, but sadly she had found little beyond colleagues and a pet sitter. But she had at least ascertained the woman’s place of work from her ID card carried on a lanyard around her neck, and so she had called them to let them know they probably shouldn’t expect her in that day at the very least.

The woman grumbled lightly as she slowly began to wake up, her eyes closed for a few moments longer against the harshness of the hospital strip lighting as a hand lifted to rub her head in a futile effort to soothe her headache. She couldn’t remember leaving the shower that morning. Maybe that was it. Maybe she had passed out in the shower, but come to just enough to drag herself to her bed before passing out again.

No. That was stupid.

And this certainly didn’t feel like her home.

It was far noisier than her quiet little plot of world.

She slowly managed to prise open her eyes just enough to take in the small cubicle she found herself in, silently beginning to panic a little as her view drifted to the multitude of monitors that were dotted around her, some of which had wires like tendrils embedded in her arms. She moved her hand to try and remove these in her quietly frantic and confused state, although she was taken off guard again as a gentle hand landed on her own to stop her. 

“Easy. Easy. You’re safe” A soft voice soothed, the hand gently drifting to her chin and guiding her to look at her. “Relax. You’re safe. I’m Doctor Campbell. You’re at Holby City hospital. You collapsed on your way to work.”

This did very little to calm Neveilla down as she scrutinized the woman, her hands planted either side of her on the trolley as she tried to ease herself to sit up. But as she did so, she was quickly brought down to earth with a series of stabbing pains in her upper abdomen, causing her to cease her efforts almost as soon as she had begun them. “Oww. Fuck fuckity fucking hell...” she grumbled, for the moment not in the mood to moderate her language as she had grown used to in front of her students, which caused a light smirk to appear on Serena’s face as she continued to gently rest her hands on the woman’s own to comfort her.

“I realise that you’d no doubt much prefer to be out of here, but I’m afraid for the time being we’d like to keep you in. We’d like to run a few tests to find out what caused you to collapse. And shou-” Serena found herself cut off as the woman lifted her hand to interject. “Please. There’s no need. It’s just stress. I have a pile of thesis and exams to mark on my desk and compositions I need to evaluate. I’m a teacher. Head of the Music department at Holby College. Once the next few weeks have settled down I’ll be ticking over just fine again.” Neveilla attempted to explain herself, but the look on the doctor’s face told her that her excuse wasn’t exactly good enough.

“Be that as it may, I’m not sure that stress could account for all of your symptoms. So we need to keep you in. Now is there anybody you would like me to call for you? I’ve already contacted the College and they send their well wishes. A lady named Anabelle called also, about your cat? She’s going to be visiting a few times more each day until you get home. And she said not to worry about paying more. There’s no charge.”

Well at least Basil was going to be alright, even if Neveilla was feeling more than a little railroaded at that moment in time as she folded her arms, sitting back in a slightly huffy manner as she frowned to herself. She had far too much to get done, even if her staff would probably do alright without her. She didn’t want to think that she wouldn’t be missed in her absence.

“No. No….I don’t...There isn’t...There isn’t anybody.” she explained, sighing a little at the rather sad statement. “He chased something cute and fluffy down a rabbit hole. So it’s just me and the cat...” she explained with a slight sneer at the thought of the last person to occupy her bed. It was a sad indictment on a 3 year relationship to nullify it with one simple sentence, but it was what it was. She was just grateful that while they had talked about the prospect of having children, they hadn’t gotten lucky enough to have a child suffer through such an ugly breakup too.

While she was acutely aware that she was no doubt keeping the doctor from something important – she didn’t seem to be actively working, which gave her the sinking feeling that she was probably keeping her from her own family or from resting between her shifts – Serena seemed happy to talk until the call came for Neveilla to be sent upstairs to undergo a few more intrusive tests. She was thankful for the time spared her, even if it was probably simply a feeling of duty rather than anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

The following several days of her stay at Holby passed in a blur of tests and doctors flitting in and out of her room, checking her vitals, taking samples of her blood. Nobody seemed to have an answer for her at that point, and if they did, they hadn’t been particularly forthcoming with the information to her. She was simply left to ponder over her own fate whilst settling into what she could only hope would be a short stay.

Lunch was typically brought to the patients of the temporary ward she had been placed upon around noon, bringing such gelatinous and bland delights that were always sure to spark complete disinterest and sudden loss of appetite. When the woman in charge of delivering such delicacies came stumbling through her door, a tray of food balanced precariously on her arm as the other held the door open for the exiting nurse, Neveilla swallowed hard with a slight nausea at the scent the food brought with it. She hadn’t had much of an appetite before she had apparently fallen ill, but now was much worse and she couldn’t quite imagine how she would manage the feat of eating. But she feigned a smile of gratitude non the less as the young lady placed the tray on the wooden sliding table positioned over her bed, and she eased herself somewhat painfully to sit up. She was careful not to upset her PICC line as she did so, giving the woman a weak smile as she thanked her for her trouble.

She removed the lid from her plate cautiously, her stomach immediately performing a somersault as her throat gave a nasty jolt in threatening to expel it’s lack of contents. But she knew she wouldn’t hear the end of it if she didn’t at least try as she lifted her fork and speared a little mashed potato, wearily bringing it to her lips and mouthing the contents. The food was easy on her throat, at least. No real chew. Easy to swallow, and without any harsh flavour that would tempt her nausea as though it were a stick poking at a sleeping bear. But there was nothing for it as within moments she found herself reaching for a napkin, spitting the contents into it before pushing her tray away. The little bit she had managed to swallow had hurt all the way down and was still making itself known as it sat like a solid mass of unpleasantness in the pit of her stomach. 

She almost felt like tossing the tray as far away from her as possible like an obstinate child as she settled back in her pillows, but she fought against the urge. That wouldn’t prevent the smell of the food from reaching her and would ultimately help no-one, least of all the poor cleaner who would have to deal with the results of her minor tantrum.  
It was too quiet. She had noted that Saturdays especially tended to be especially slow in the hospital ward, with not as many people coming and going through the doors visiting patients or attending care appointments. While she had been placed on a temporary ward, she still had to share the room with one other person and due to the fact that space and beds were hard to come by, ultimately she had ended up sharing with a child. A little boy by the age of five, she had ascertained during his brief bouts of lucidity. Connor was his name, and by his account this wasn’t the first admittance he’d had in his short life. He had been coming and going from the hospital for the best part of a year as he fought leukaemia, and while they did their best to find him a bed on the Oncology Ward he had been placed here when not being ferried to and from various scans or treatments.  
She hadn’t seen a family member, or even parent visit him once.

In passing, a Nurse had mentioned to her that the little boy’s Mother hadn’t visited since she had dropped him off almost three weeks previously. It seemed to have escaped the little boy’s notice as he spent so much of his time sleeping. Maybe they had been lying to him and telling him she had visited during his sleep, just to make him feel better. But it certainly hadn’t escaped her notice, and she couldn’t help but feel an irrational anger towards the Mother of a boy she scarcely knew. She had been close to the little boy since they had first met and he had regaled her with tales of his latest space adventures. 

It had started with nightmares. Connor would wake up screaming, and none of the nurses on the ward could do a thing to comfort him. She never mentioned it, but she could hear him calling for his mother in his sleep. Eventually, her own rest going neglected, she would sit with him and gently hold his hand until he would calm down enough to fall back asleep. It had been one silver lining to come from the current thunderstorm that had settled over her, to be able to help in some small way. Maybe it was the simple fact that children were part of her profession that compelled her to provide comfort for the little boy. Or maybe it was the fact that, although she hadn’t yet to her knowledge been diagnosed with a life threatening condition, she could relate to the confusion and fear that the little boy felt. But unlike him, she was in more of a position to understand this, so she could share that with him.

\------------------------------------

The final diagnosis was given to her by a less than friendly seeming doctor – he may have been perfectly pleasant, but he carried with him an err of being overworked, underpaid and far too close to retirement to worry too much about his already well established reputation – had been a simple and abrupt affair.

Stomach Cancer.

The words had been practically barked at her as soon as he had entered the room she had been admitted into, and Neveilla had taken a moment of silence to take in what had just been relayed to her as she sat in her bed, her hands knotted together for lack of anything better to do with them. She blinked once, twice, three times before the words would sink. And when they did, it felt like a sucker punch to the stomach. Her jaw dropped lightly. This had been the last thing she had been expecting. Having been well used to the effect stress would have on her during the last few weeks of a long academic year, she had been fully expecting to simply be told off for not taking care of herself. That this was simply a belated reaction to self-neglect, malnutrition and sleepless nights. Even the pain she had grown used to.

“Erm….How...How advanced?” She didn’t want to ask what she really thought. Was she going to die? That was far too defeatist an attitude to start off in, even if all she wanted to know was the answer to that one simple question. 

Not that the doctor before her could claim to know any more than she did on that particular matter at this stage.

“At this stage it really is rather impossible to say how much, or even, the cancer his spread. We should be able to get a good view when we operate. If an operation isn’t something you’d like to explore at this stage, then we will still need to check your lymph nodes in order to discover whether it has metastasized. I have to stress though, Ms Papadakis, that we have made great advancements within this area and if the correct course of treatment is chosen, there’s every chance that you will make a full recovery. Now I realise this is a lot to take in. If you need time to ab-” 

“How are we fixing this?” The woman interjected without giving her doctor the chance to finish his sentence. It felt to her the most relevant thing to discuss right now. Platitudes and ‘I’m sorry’s were hardly going to solve the problem she found herself faced with.

“Well…There is a lot of information that I need to share with you. I would like to leave to leave you with a few days to read through the relevant literature and consider all of the options available to you. We can discuss things further on Monday. But you should take this time to discuss your condition with your family as I’m sure you will need all the support you can get with this.”

It was just as well for Neveilla then that she had no family she could rely on for support. She had friends...Well...more colleagues, really. But they had their own lives to lead. What right did she have to go to them with this and expect them to be there at her beckon call when needed.

“I don’t have a family. So...What? Am I stuck here until Monday or…? What’s the plan? Because I have obligations at home and work that I need to attend to.”

“Ordinarily, you’d be allowed home to deal with treatment – up until surgery – as an outpatient. However, given the condition you were in when you were found, I’m not entirely sure that would be wise. I would rather you remained in the care of the hospital until you begin to show a marked improvement. If there was somebody at home to take care of you, it would be a different matter. But as it stands, I’m afraid we’re going to have to admit you. A bed should be available on the adult ward within the next day, by which time you’ll be moved to a more private room.”


	3. Chapter 3

Having been gifted with a silence that spanned several precious hours - silence she had been so craving since her arrival at Holby’s finest oncology unit - it was with no small sense of irritation that Neveilla was awoken from a hard fought for sleep with the familiar rattle of her hospital room door. The hinges squeaked in a manner that did little to soothe her headache as she held her eyes tightly closed against the light, pulling the thin blankets of her bed above her head as she burrowed into the fabric, naively hoping that should she feign sleep her visitor would leave her alone. But alas, her reluctance to face the morning was not met with her visitor’s departure, as the curtains were quickly thrust open and an obnoxiously cheery voice spoke up as it’s owner moved around the room, preparing it for the day.

“Good morning, Sleepyhead!” The nurse proclaimed in a tuneful voice that irritated it’s intended target to no end, casually peeling the blankets away from her patient as the woman grumbled her way through easing her small frame into a reluctant seated position against her pillows. “Now, Miss Papadakis. You have a treatment session after breakfast -” Just the mere mention of food was enough to turn Neveilla’s acutely damaged stomach as she consciously fought against audibly gagging in a childish manner. “- and then this afternoon, Mr. Hanssen will be paying you a visit to discuss your upcoming surgery. I’d like it if you tried to eat something before he gets here.”

Neveilla's look of disgust - a look that was only shadowed by the pale hue that was commonplace for her as she rattled through the tray that the nurse had brought in in search for her morning pain medication - at the mention of food hadn’t gone unnoticed, but the fact that she had been subsisting on very little aside from her nutrient drips had been a worry amongst her caregivers.

“Yeah….yeah” Neveilla grumbled as she found her medication, waving her hand as though waving away the topic entirely. With the nausea and pain she felt at that point in time, she had no intention of humouring her. “Aspirin? What am I in here for? A headache? Come on, Sarah. Stop holding out on me.” she proclaimed with dismay, her nose wrinkled with irritation at the meagre offering presented to her. But the stern look given to her as the nurse moved to check her PICC line told her not to expect very much by the way of a better offer. It didn’t exactly help that she had a morphine allergy to contend with.

But there was nothing to do by the way of protest as the nurse aided her through her morning routines of medication, the indignity of bathing and an attempted force feed before relenting and hooking her up to her usual morning nutritional IV. Did the woman not realise just how much pain she was in? Granted, she did her best to maintain the stiff upper lip that her English grandmother had done her best to instruct her in, but the sheer nature of her illness should have given her some indication that food wasn’t exactly high on her list of priorities.

While she could appreciate the necessity for her treatment, however, , Neveilla could never quite get past the irony of just how much worse it would make her feel in it’s efforts. Having returned from her session a little over an hour previously, she could be found on the floor of her private bathroom facility, cradling the lavatory like a long lost friend. There was very little, if anything, to expel from her stomach, and so she had spent most of her efforts fruitlessly dry heaving enough to make her throat extremely sore and her head spin in a garish manner. She was allowed a brief respite from her heaves as she reached forward and turned the tap to pour herself some water in the hopes of soothing her. Although she was soon distracted by the sound of small feet padding across the floor of her room outside, pulling something she recognised as being an IV stand in their wake. While there were quite a few children on the ward doors down from her room who were known for wandering off, she knew without fear of correction who those feet belonged to. She had befriended a little boy not too long after her admission, having often taken herself to the ward to entertain herself with the children when the isolation of the room grew too much for her.

It hadn’t taken her very long to note that the little boy received no visitors.

While the little boy did have a mother, for some reason or another she had never known her to visit her son. And yet he always seemed to be under the impression that she would be there soon to read him a story or comfort him. It was a naive hope he seemed to carry with him, but Neveilla had never once attempted to quell it. God knew she had never had much by the way of family or hope while growing up, and he needed that hope now more than ever. 

Her water going abandoned on the side of the sink, she eased herself across the floor to the bathroom door and teased it open, her heart falling to see that the little boy was crying.

“Connor, sweetheart? Did you have another nightmare?” she asked in a pacifying tone, her arms outstretched as the sobbing little boy ambled to her and fell into what was clearly a much needed hug. He had been prone to having nightmares after his own treatments, which she could see had been a recent event as his skin was still quite pale and clammy. What was he even doing out of bed? She fought against the urge to have a conversation on his absent mother’s behalf with his nurses as she gently soothed the boy enough to pull away, her hands lifting to wipe his tears with her thumbs. “Coming down here with nothing on your little feet…...Let me figure out how to get up off of this cold floor and I’ll take you back to your room. I can read you a story. Would you like that?” she asked him, a weary smile returning to his face as he nodded his head with enthusiasm. 

Anything revolving around space and the unknown, she had quickly learned, were a favourite for Connor. Tales of men and women exploring space, epic battles and contacting alien beings for the first time had always enraptured him. His favourite being a not exactly age appropriate tale of a seemingly normal man casting away his mundane life for that of a space explorer along with his alien friends. His games – when he was well enough to play - would place him in the role of that explorer as he attempted to recruit the other children to help with such adventures as rescuing the biscuits held captive in the staff lounge or overcoming the evil overlord nurses that were attempting to force them into a bath. She had to admit that he did have a wonderful imagination. Though considering how much he loved his books, it was hardly too surprising.

It was only as she awoke wrapped up with a sleeping little boy who clutched a book close to his heart that Neveilla became aware of an argument occurring just outside of the ward. By the sounds of it, the nurses were being accused of having lost a patient.

Oh.

She had forgotten about her visit from one of the hospital’s surgeons that afternoon.

Attempting to free herself gently from underneath the little boy in order to avoid waking him, she heard the door to the ward swing open and hit the wall with a small but audible bang as a harried nurse swept down the corridor with a man who would have presumable gained the impression that she were avoiding him. Well, she hadn’t exactly been enthused with the notion of surgery to begin with, be it avoidable or not. She had barely had time to ease herself to a light headed seated position , the little boy propped against his pillow with a stuffed giraffe to replace her, before the woman made her way into Connor’s room with quite a tall and foreboding figure.

If he were angry, it wasn’t immediately obvious. Certainly put out by being kept waiting. But it was the small nuances that made her believe that most of his feelings on the matter were being well guarded. A small tick of his jaw as his lips pursed. A minor wrinkle of his nose. The flexing of his exceptionally long fingers. 

“Ms. Papadakis. I believe we were supposed to be discussing surgery. Although I dare say the matter has been made rather difficult upon finding my patient had gone awol. ”   
It was all Neveilla could do not to gain the manner of a naughty child as she bit her lip and avoided the man’s gaze, slight amusement turning the corners of her mouth as she tried her best not to laugh. She had used that tone so often on her students. Although being a woman of a rather small and slight stature had made it somewhat difficult for her students to take her seriously, and she suspected their ensuing good behaviour to often be borne of nothing more than pity. Well, whatever worked. “Well...it was mentioned, I guess. But in my defence entertaining an upset child did sound much more entertaining than discussing how you’d like to slice me open and remove bits….” she responded to the man’s stern tone, her smirk growing ever so slightly with the irritated tick in his jaw. Clearly he wasn’t quite as amused as she.

“Be that as it may, if you could please return with me to your room so we can discuss the matter at hand.”

Neveilla rolled her eyes slightly, turning her head to check on the little boy and ensure that he still slept peacefully. Once she was certain that he were safely in the land of nod, she began the slow and clumsy task of easing herself to her feet, nursing the familiar ache in her stomach as her head danced rhythmically with each motion. The cup of water she’d taken to wash out her mouth had been a mistake. She could feel it sitting in her throat, just waiting for a sudden jolt that would force her to vomit over the man’s pristine shoes. But she managed to hold off on presenting the man with the gift of a cleaning bill as she made her way to her unsteady feet. The man beside her seemed to take note of her faltering as he somewhat reluctantly took hold of her arm, the ghost of concern on his features as he gauged whether or not this were a welcome gesture. Well, it wasn’t. Neveilla rarely did accept help, regardless of whether or not she needed it. But there was little argument in her as she allowed him to drape another arm around her shoulder and help her make her slow and faltering way back to her room to discuss a subject that didn’t exactly fill her with excitement.

“I’m Henrik Hanssen, and I’ll be performing your surgery when the time comes.” The man introduced himself once she were situated uncomfortably in her bed, her blankets wrapped around her somewhat frail form with the chill she had suddenly begun to feel in the air. Perhaps the temperature and the man’s presence were related, she couldn’t help but wonder. The thought brought another smirk to her lips as she watched the man’s lips move, his words washing over her like waves as she fought hard to regain her concentration. She had voiced her dismay several times at the thought of being cut open as part of her treatment, but had been shot down each time by those more learned than herself in the medical field. She didn’t exactly have the strength in her to simply walk out entirely, after all. So she was somewhat left to their whims.

“Yes. Yes. I get all that - ” She didn’t. In fact, she couldn’t have repeated any of the information passed to her were she requested to do so. “- how much will you actually be removing? Because if you’re going to be gutting me like a fish, I’d like to think it’ll be worth it afterwards.” she questioned, revealing a stubborn side to her that the nurses had begun to know quite well. She never meant to be a difficult patient. But they didn’t know much of her or her past, and so they couldn’t exactly know what drove her to question every decision they made on her behalf.

“Well...That would depend on how much it has spread, which we can’t fully ascertain until you have been opened up..” 

That didn’t exactly answer her question.

In fact, all of the questions she asked during her conversation with Mr. Hanssen had been responded to in much the same indecisive and evasive manner, leaving her with the distinct impression that she knew little more than before they had begun as the man left her room. Presumably in search of much more affable and docile patients.


	4. Chapter 4

Hurried footsteps and the scrape of IV stands across the highly polished floors were the first thing Neveilla became aware of when she woke up from her sleep, something she felt she had been doing far too much of since her illness had begun to catch up with her and her energy waned. From what she could hear outside in the corridor, there were several people hurrying around the corridor, talking in harried terms with words she couldn’t hazard a guess to when it came to their meaning. Most of the conversation may as well have been in another language, but a few words she recognised enough to realise the grave nature of the situation. Things weren’t sounding particularly good for somebody on the ward. 

It had to have been early, 3am at the latest, given the fact that it was still very much dark outside. And she wanted to go back to sleep. She didn’t want to hear the sound of another life ebbing away.

Why did she have to wake up now?

She told herself over and over that she should just ignore the commotion and go back to sleep. That it would all be over by the time she woke up again. What else was there to do, aside from laying up all night and listening to the urgent voices and the rhythmic beep of each machine that was currently working in vane to keep a sick patient from dying?   
She had almost convinced her tired mind to cease it’s churning long enough for her to fall back to sleep, when all hope of rest was taken from her with three of the heaviest words she had come to know during her short stay.

Time of death.

And just like that, another life was lost.

She told herself that it had been inevitable. That the patient had to have been in far worse of a position than herself, considering how short a time she had been here compared to others and the state she had seen many of them to be in. It had only been a matter of time. It would never happen to her. The esteemed Dr. Henrik Hanssen would see to that. He would remove the alien that was currently invading her body. She would carry on with chemotherapy to kill anything left behind, and all would be well. It would never be her to have those three words spoken over her. She would make it through this. Even as she let that silent mantra of hope wash over her, she couldn’t quite cease the tears that had slowly begun to slip down her cheeks onto her pillow. They were a silent testament in acknowledgement of another death she had been forced to bare witness to since her arrival. But the fact that this was not the first didn’t make the pain of it lessen in any way.  
\----  
It was a more reasonable hour the next morning when Neveilla found herself being awoken again, this time by the sound of somebody being wheeled into the room, complaining with each step the porter took. She had been under the impression that the room she had been given was for her alone, but she presumed that this had to have something to do with the evening’s events, owing to the fact that she knew for certain that this man had been a thorn in the side of the staff for some time now.

Given the fact that complaining and “wet blanket syndrome” had seemed to be a fluent language for him, the staff had discretely begun to refer to the man as ‘Eeyore’, something she realised she would have to become acutely aware of NOT calling him by, should he seem to be sharing the room with her from now on. Why did it have to be her room?  
“Slow down. Slow down. You’re not in a bloody race, you know. You needn’t bother rushing to get to somewhere else. You’ll be no bloody use when you get there...” the patient complained as the porter wheeled him to his bed at a less than speedy pace, occasionally banging his walking stick on the floor for emphasis. This caused Neveilla to frown as she sat up in her bed, knowing that this particular porter had been on duty since the previous afternoon. She had witnessed a few of the patients abuse staff members with their bad moods and insulting them through some strange sense of entitlement, and it never had sat well with her. She didn’t see any need for it when the staff were trying their best. But the porter in question seemed to take this behaviour – something she suspected he was sadly used to – in his stride as he eased the covers back in the spare bed opposite her own before helping the man into it. No words were exchanged between them again as he ensured he was comfortable before relinquishing the man to a young doctor who she knew to be more than capable at his job. Not that the fact that the young man had earned the right to be there and work seemed to be enough for the patient.

“Oh no..no.no...You’re not on duty. I want a grown-up. I don’t want Barbie’s Ken’s divvy little brother. I want Lurch. The one that looks like an undertaker. Bring him back. He seemed to know what he was doing.” He complained, clutching at his chest in a melodramatic fashion.

“Yes, Mr. Rowland. He does know what he is doing. Which is why he assigned me to your case.”

“Oh bloody hell. Not again. Have you got a pencil? After you’ve stabbed me multiple times with it….. you can start with my eye sockets. Just sign my death warrant with it, will you. Because I’m never getting out of here alive, that’s for certain. Oh, and why not give me something incurable while you’re at it! C.Difficile, maybe. Sars. MRSA. Could probably whip up some Ebola if you tried hard enough.”

It was at this point that Neveilla realised just how un-phased she would have been should the man turn out to have little more than an ingrown toenail to bring him here. Catching the eye of the young doctor, she gave him a wink as she quietly laughed to herself. 

During a much welcome lull in one sided conversation following a long ramble regarding reasons he refused to visit his family in Australia – she couldn’t remember asking, but apparently anything from spider’s to the fear of aeroplane toilet facility’s seemed to have made the final cut – the doors opened to the head doctor assigned to her case, Dr. Hanssen, along with a man she didn’t readily recognise. He was an awkward looking individual, his muscles straining against his tight-fitted scrub shirt as his slightly weak jaw locked in what looked to be annoyance. His eyebrows were creased down, and his mouth held in a tight line. Were it not for the fact that he looked far too uptight and angry, he could have been accused of being cute. But something had clearly happened before they had arrived into the room as he occasionally shot tentative and moody looks at the lead doctor who worked on obliviously perusing a thick folder that seemed to carry her medical notes. 

“Ms. Papadakis. How are we this morning?”

The question was asked by a man who gave all the impressions of being entirely disinterested in the answer, and not for a moment could she blame him. In a place such as a hospital, it felt like such a ridiculous platitude. She was there because she didn’t feel well. What else could she respond with?

“Well aside from the fact that Eeyore’s kept me awake most of the morning talking about his hemarrhoids, I’m pretty chipper!” she responded in a wide, plastered on smile. This seemed to amuse the younger doctor as his frown faltered.

To this he merely hummed in approval. “Good, good.” he murmured, clearly not having heard a word she had as he clicked his pen and began to make a few notes onto the board that had been clipped to the foot of her bed. 

She couldn’t help but feel increasingly self-conscious in her medical gown and fluffy duckling slippers that had been kindly brought for her by Serena Campbell during her last visit, the woman having become a surprising friend for her during her time at Holby. Perhaps the woman had taken pity on her because she had nobody else to visit her, but she appreciated the woman’s kindness regardless. She knew she must have looked quite a sight at the moment. Her eyes were sunken in; her skin far too pale from a mixture of little sleep and little nourishment beyond nutritional drips; her lack of make-up. It was hard not to feel like somewhat of an oddity as the men discussed her condition over her, barely acknowledging her presence until they were ready to do so.

“ This afternoon we are going to be carrying out a few tests to see how the cancer is responding to your current therapy, as well as ascertain whether or not you’re currently well enough for surgery. Should these tests prove promising, you are to be scheduled into surgery early tomorrow morning where we will attempt to remove as much of the growth as we are able to.” he explained, finally acknowledging her as he looked up to face her as his explanation was enhanced with the soundtrack of a patient behind him wheezing and mumbling in his sleep. It had clearly bothered Hanssen just a little as she noted his hands find their way behind his back, the man rocking on the balls of his feet for a few moments before taking a closer position by the side of her bed.

Watching the man in front of her’s chest rise and fall with a loud snore, followed by a long and high pitched squeak, Neveilla couldn’t help but slightly drift off as thoughts turned from the questions that had come to mind now that she had a time and date for her surgery. She quietly lifted a pillow that had been laying discarded by her side, eyes narrowed as she held it aloft in front of her and silently imagined herself holding it over the man’s face. Just long enough to end the complaining that had provided an irritating background note to her days since he had arrived in her room.

“I could make it look like natural causes, you know. No questions asked….” she mused to Hanssen as he watched her actions with interest, a slight smirk appearing on his face as he gave a light cough to mask a small but audible note of laughter. It was no secret what an irritation the man had proven to be amongst his staff. To himself, if he were honest. While discussing the man’s own medical needs with him the previous day, he had been forced to contend with him nodding off several times during their conversation, passing wind at an offensively frequent pace and doing his level best to pull the negative out of every piece of information shared with him. It was quite refreshing to be speaking to a patient now who seemed far less than concerned with the negativity of their situation, even if he thought it bordering on flippancy.   
Though he suspected that there was still a fair amount of denial about the seriousness of her condition.


	5. Chapter 5

It was difficult to measure time by normal methods when it came to a hospital environment. Upon patient admittance, phones and other valuables were often locked away for safe keeping. There were clocks hung aloft in most rooms for those who required them to locate them readily, but not often in a location where a sleepless patient could find them. And one could lose minutes; perhaps even hours, on a single effort of saving a life. Time afterwards often lost in the melancholia of a failed attempt. 

So it was of little shock to note that time was often measured in different rhythms than the ticking of a clock: sleeping and waking, inhaling and exhaling, systole and diastole. After so many years of haunting the wards of Holby, Henrik Hanssen had grown to prefer the rhythm of hospital time to the segmented seconds devoted to his personal life.   
Above all else, however, he held dear the moment when time in both eventualities grew still. One of the reasons why he much preferred an evening shift on Keller ward.

This evening, Henrik was on call. He hadn’t planned to be – in fact, he had gone out of his way prior to ensure that he would not be working in order to attend a benefit function organised by one of the hospital’s wealthy benefactors – but circumstances had changed, and found Mr. Levy at home suffering the ravages of flu. Sasha had undertaken extra hours when he had required him to, and so he had reluctantly fallen on his own sword and given himself an early leave from the event in order to oversee the man’s patients. He had painted a pitiful sight during his apologetic and extremely nasal video message, ensuring that he couldn’t say no.

In all actuality, as he drifted silently with his hands running loose rings around each other behind his back down the silent corridor, he was quite grateful. Busy functions had never been a forte of his. He had never, for one, much understood the pleasure of mindless prattle and inane conversation about the most trivial of things. And in the lives of those wealthy individuals who had little else to occupy their time now that they had earned their money and retired from their illustrious careers, mindless prattle was in abundance.  
He mindlessly hummed a tune to himself; the name of which had been evading him the last few days, as he briefly paused occasionally to pointlessly read through the charts placed on the end of each bed or check the normality of current vitals. The patients continued to sleep soundly through his wanderings, except for one, he noted as he slowly became aware of the soft humming emanating from one of the rooms situated along the adjoining corridor. Humming the exact same melody as him, admittedly more in tune with the composer’s original vision than his own half-hearted attempt. 

The shadow of a smile crept over his face as he closed the file he had been holding, setting it down in it’s rightful place before drifting his way to the source of the sound.  
“Allegri’s Miserere mei, Deus. One of my favourites”.

This particular patient, who he made a mental note to give a floral ‘thank you’ to for solving his latest ear worm, could be found perched on the windowsill of her room. Adorned in her patient gown, window wide open as she lay against the glass while watching the world pass by. 

“Miss Papadakis. You should be resting. Should your test results require it, tomorrow you’ll be undergoing extensive surgery….” he lightly pointed out to a woman who he had no doubt would be more than likely sat dwelling on such an eventuality. It didn’t hurt to remind her of this fact, however, considering she did appear to be in some amount of pain that she held very much to herself. The hand placed protectively over her stomach, white knuckled and clenched, told him in no uncertain terms. He leaned lightly against the door frame as he spoke, arms folded. His voice was carefully pitched so as not to disturb other patients, but in the silence it carried.

“No offence, Mr. Hanssen. But considering you’re going to be the one holding the scalpel, I’d rather you be the one who’s well rested...” Neveilla pointed out, a slight quirk at the corner of her top lip telling him that she meant this in jest. Even if she very much meant it.

Henrik had no answer for this.

“You will require your strength, afterwards.” It was a pitiful argument, but the only one he had at a moment when he suddenly found himself dwelling on what she had asked of him not a day previously. He heaved a gentle sigh before asking the question that had come to him at the remembrance of her request.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure? About the surgery? You said it’s my best chance. You’re the expert here.”

“I mean….About your request. That we remove it all. Regardless?”

“You mean….Are you sure I’d rather you remove everything, than just open me up, rummage around and then close me up to die? Yes. I’m sure.”

“It’s not that simple….” Henrik responded cautiously, moving further into the room. “We know it’s in your stomach, but if it has infiltrated other organs, we cannot remove them entirely. There’s a risk – a very large risk – that instead of giving you a chance to fight, we’d just be killing you outright.”

Neveilla’s already pale complexion grew steadily paler, but she took a deep breath before speaking. “You mustn’t know about me. I’m a world champion. You’ve never seen a fight like the one I could give this, if you give me a chance.”

Henrik made his thoughtful way to the bed that had been adorned with a maroon and orange crocheted blanket – no doubt collected from her home by a doctor who herself could learn a thing or two about maintaining a professional distance – and with a gentle pull of adjustment on his trouser legs he sat himself down next to a pair of duckling slippers that had been neatly placed alongside a small pile of clearly well loved books.

“Have you...spoken...with anybody about this? It’s a big decision to make. Your family?”

“I don’t have anybody to speak with about it, Mr. Hanssen. I told you. It’s just me. I grew up in foster care. Got kicked out when I was 15. It’s just me.”

He hadn’t known this about her and, had he done so, would have no doubt gone a different direction in his questioning. But he could relate to how she felt all too well. Having little to no direction to turn to when it came to things so important and so personal. It saddened him that she didn’t have anybody to help her through any of this, and for his next bequest of information he was sure he would be angry with himself later on for becoming personal. There were professional ethics for a reason, one of which he was sure was cases like this.

“In my...entirely personal...opinion, I think you’re making the wrong decision. And I apologise for speaking out of turn, but perhaps you’re allowing your fear to cloud your judgement. It may well be the case that we open you up, find a very minimal level of coverage, and can rectify it with as little invasion as possible.”

It was made clear that it wasn’t exactly what Neveilla wanted to hear, just by the manner in which her shoulder’s sagged just a touch, and her head tilted forward. Though, in truth, she didn’t know what she wanted to hear. If he had told her that she was right, then that suggested that he knew more about her situation than he was sharing, and that it wasn’t good. Disagreeing with her only made her doubt a decision she had been so sure of up until this point. 

“But that isn’t going to be the case though, is it? Now I’m sorry if this makes me sound defeatist, but you and I both know that this is far worse than your best case scenario. Chemo’s not touching it. And I can tell by the look on your face every time I have a stomach cramp that it’s worrying you more than you’re letting on.” She hated the way she had just spoken to him. Hated the fact that she knew her tone wasn’t about to change any time soon. But he was right. She was scared, and no amount of best case scenario projections could soothe that. No amount of big and complicated explanations about procedures and prognoses that she didn’t understand would make her feel as though they had a handle on what was growing unwanted inside of her.

“You know...you doctor’s are just so full of it.” She spoke to herself with a humourless laugh, her eyes clenched closed for a moment or two before she pulled herself to her weary feet. She could barely stand unaided, her hand gripping the IV stand that fed her medication steadily as she forced herself to look at him. He sat unmoving on the bed, visage unchanged save for a clenched jaw that seemed so little, but gave so much away about how he was feeling at that point. “You….You bombard us with diagnoses and prognoses and big...fucking...WORDS. You talk about us like we’re machines just waiting in line to be fixed and then fucked off out of the door for the next patient to walk in. God forbid you talk to us like we’re real human beings with real feelings. Just talk straight for once for god sake. Because I am fucking TERRIFIED and nobody will talk to me about it.”

Quiet, embarrassing tears leaked down an otherwise calm visage after Neveilla’s irrational tirade – if she were asked afterwards, she would say herself that she didn’t have any idea as to where it had suddenly come from – and she watched Henrik, bracing herself for his anger before he left the room. But the anticipated anger never arrived. Instead, he brought himself to his feet, and casually removed a clean handkerchief from his pocket before proceeding to gently wipe the tears from her bony cheeks. 

If these actions weren’t a shock in and of themselves, his next were as he planted his hands onto her shoulders and gently drew her into a slightly awkward hug; lingering just a little too long. It was clearly not an action he was used to as he drew himself away again, giving an awkward cough before gently guiding her to her bed and easing her down.

“Let us talk, then.”

And talk they did, for what felt like the rest of the evening. It could have only been an few hours at best, before another patient demanded Henrik’s attention. But he devoted those hours entirely to her, allowing her to work through her fears, as well as invariably sharing things about her that a doctor had no business to know. But she couldn’t have told him how grateful she had been for that time he’d given her.

“You have other patients to check in on.” Neveilla gently reminded Henrik once she herself had grown aware of the time. “But thank you, Dr. Hanssen. I appreciate the talk. And….uhm...sorry for shouting at you”. She added the apology with a large note of embarrassment, her cheeks flushed slightly red as she ducked her head slightly.  
“You’re welcome. And there is no need to apologise. Your reaction was entirely understandable. I will see you first thing tomorrow, alright?”

“It’s already today..” Neveilla pointed out, gesturing towards the clock placed across from her bed. And so it was. Almost 4 in the morning. The F1 doctor’s would be arriving within the hour, and the rhythms of the hospital would reassert themselves once again.

“You’re quite correct...And in that case,I will see you in a few hours. Get some rest, if you can”

“I will if you will” she promised, and while Henrik smiled and nodded as he left the room, he was all too aware that any chance of sleep that had been there before was now completely gone. He would spend the next few hours walking the floor, counting his own breaths, and putting his heartbeats into prayers that Neveilla Papadakis was truly up to the fight.

\--------

“Miss Campbell, could I borrow you for a moment please?”

Serena turned her head away from her less than captive audience to her morning briefing as the request was called, Henrik peering through the door while paying no attention to those he may have been disturbing.

“Henrik, I’m in the middle of -” she began to respond, although there was something slightly off about the man’s demeanor, giving her the impression that it was probably a matter of some sort of urgency. “Fine. Just a moment.” she sighed, turning back to the faces of the young doctors who had been less than captively providing her with an audience. “Miss Kasim, Michaels, you’re going to be shadowing Doctor Copeland this morning. Werthing, you’re to meet Staff Nurse Chiltern on AAU” she briefed, although the smug fist pump the man gave to himself at the prospect of dealing with surgical patients made her wish to quickly revoke her instructions. “I’ll catch up with you all later today to see how you’re getting on” she added before turning her attention back to Henrik, who stood rocking on the balls of his feet with his hands clasped behind his back, clearly feeling impatient about something. 

Shaking her head lightly, she left the room to join him, finding herself being led to the X-Ray viewing screen where he had pinned up a number of images. Presumably for her own evaluation.

“Tell me what you see, Serena...” he requested in a much less formal tone than that he had adopted in front of their new F1’s, although the note of worry increased somewhat.  
Confused, Serena took a closer look at the images in front of her, frowning to herself at the sight of them. The patient these belonged to clearly wasn’t in a good state of health.  
“Well...erm….Advanced adenocarcinoma, lesions on both ovaries with what looks to be a high level of sarcoma present in the uterine cavity…..Osteosarcoma deposits on the pelvis and potentially the beginnings of an infection...” she mused, Henrik’s look growing grimmer with each new mention of a previously unknown issue. 

He took a deep sigh as he removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes as he shook his head in a weary fashion. “These X-Rays were taken last night. They belong to Miss Papadakis. I had been hoping that she would be well enough for surgery this morning in order to remove what we initially thought was a localised adenocarcinoma. It seems as though its spread beyond the point where surgery is a viable option for her...” he explained, seeing the woman’s face fall to learn just who exactly she had been scrutinizing. He knew Serena had developed somewhat of a friendship with this woman since she had aided in bringing her in, even going so far as to take the woman’s cat home with her after her sitter had unceremoniously quit.

Henrik wordlessly buried his head in his hand, shaking it lightly as he tried his level best to think of a way to break the news to a woman he had spent so long reassuring the previous evening. He had been so confident in his assessment that she would be absolutely fine. But now he wasn’t sure. Maybe, as she had accused him of, he was simply full of it.


End file.
